


Send me an Angel

by ThatwasJustaDream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU Fic, M/M, angel in disguise fic, hooker!dean fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1696862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatwasJustaDream/pseuds/ThatwasJustaDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a high priced male escort used to keeping his hopes low. But this one.. who goes by Edward Lewis? Maybe he'll be the one to sweep him away from it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Send me an Angel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelus2hot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelus2hot/gifts).



> Written as a reward fic - the 'boff' portion of a marry, boff, kill series. The [whole thing is here on my LJ ](http://thtwzjustadream.livejournal.com/40243.html)\- a little SPN, a little Vampire Diaries in the other two.

“Mr. Lewis?” Dean straightened his tie and put out a hand, then pulled it back, face flushing.

How _should_ you greet the as-rich-as-heaven-and-hell-combined man who had hired you as his escort for a long weekend of charity dinners, formal balls and Sunday horse racing? Dean had accompanied and bedded a shit ton of corporate execs in his ten years in the business. Billionaires? Not so many.

“Hello, Dean,” Lewis stayed where he was, leaning back in the padded wing chair at the far, back corner of the restaurant. He looked very at home, loose, had an arm over the side of the seat and his long legs out in the aisle, ankles crossed, like he owned the place.

Hell, maybe he did.

Dean took the offered opportunity to look him up and down; perfect haircut – dark and thick, wavy. Just long enough for getting his fingers into and tugging. Thousand dollar shoes on his feet, suit worth six times that much, probably. Million-dollar smile – warm, the way it was making it all the way from his already hard to forget lips to his bright blue eyes. 

No phony and no faking on that face. It helped him relax a notch. Maybe this one wouldn’t be a twisted, kinky bag full of dicks? That’d be a nice change.

“We had an appointment. And you’re late,” Lewis said, but it was patient, no reproach in it. Just an observation.

What was it with those eyes? Dean shifted on his feet. It was like... they were looking straight into him.

“I’m sorry, the bus… uh, the car I called, it was…slow. Traffic, you know?”

“I wouldn’t know. I travel…in my own manner. Rush hour isn’t generally a problem.” Lewis waved a hand at the chair opposite him. “Please…sit.”

The guy was at the table in the very corner, next to the floor to ceiling windows. It looked like maybe he’d ‘bought’ the two tables nearby, too, ‘cause they were the only empty ones in eyesight. The Chrysler Building shone silver and yellow in the darkness behind him, adding a glow to their little personal space.

“Can I ask you a question right off?” Dean asked as he sat. A frown creased his client's forehead, but most of the smile remained as he nodded. “It’s 2014. No one’s blinking at a high power guy with a boyfriend these days, especially around this city so… why do you need to rent me for your charity gala weekend? You could have any man or woman you….”

“I like to keep my life…uncomplicated. Is that a sin?”

“Guess not.” Dean refrained from speculating on whether hiring pricey hookers might be.

Something clicked, made him laugh; the deep, languid voice and dark suit, the whiff of Clive Christian ‘No. 1’ cologne in the air and that crisp white shirt. It was all too……

“Does this make me your own personal ‘Vivian,’ Mister Lewis?’ She only walked away with 3k, but I hate to tell you, prices have gone up since….”

“I’m well aware,” Lewis looked him up and down, too. “I paid your agency seven, but… you’re worth more like fifteen ‘k’. I’ll give you the rest under the table. Sound good?”

“Uh, maybe. What do you want for that kind of coin, that’s way too….”

“Just the usual, nothing…wrong.”

“Why. So. Much?”

“Your soul…”

“My…soul?”

“Yes. It’s…. so beautiful. It’s worth more than that, honestly, to hold it in my arms for a few nights.”

Dean almost bolted, then, but something on that face said it wasn’t a lie or an exceptionally flaky, earnest, awkward come-on. It was like…he meant it. Knew something about Dean in a few minutes and fewer words than he would ever understand about himself - let alone believe.

“Oh, just one other thing…”

Of course there was one other thing.

“If this weekend goes well… I need dibs whenever I’m in town. Those times when you’re already booked, you're still mine.”

Dean ended up very, very happy he hadn’t gotten up and walked.

It wasn’t because of the money or the fancy food and drinks. It was more about the stuff he thought he was dead to by now: The slow-burn ‘strip and kiss’ once they were back in the room that left him unsteady on his feet; the gentle but enthusiastic wrestling match in ‘Edward Lewis’ bed (if that was his real name); the way the man spent a teasingly long time exploring Dean’s body with his mouth, his fingertips, watching what he responded to before taking him.

Even the way he did the deed – thrusting slow and deep, an arm over Dean’s back, hand pressing his head into the mattress, sighing words of praise into his ear….

His breath started hitching tight and fast when he got close, like Dean was the best thing he’d felt in….forever.

Dean heard it in his own shouts when he fell apart; how open and vulnerable the guy had him in...what? A few hours.

If he offered him an apartment and a couple of visits every other month? Dean was so taking that.


End file.
